How Padfoot Got His Shape
by Avada Kedavra
Summary: Remus muses about teenage feelings, and Sirius makes an interesting discovery on the train... Oneshot fluffy drabble.


HOW PADFOOT GOT HIS SHAPE

14 July 2006

Dedication: I felt like writing something new, and my good friend Alix is a big fan of the puppy ship. So…here's a puppy story for you, Alix!

Disclaimer: Hey, I don't own these guys:D But you already knew that!

There is a feeling that, invariably, most adolescents, particularly those kept shut in close proximity with any number of other adolescents, will feel. They call it "being in love". First, they get that tight feeling in the chest, the one that is probably why hearts are associated with love in the first place, even though in reality the heart is nowhere near this queasy place. Then, perhaps, their palms will go sweaty, their knees will go weak, or they may find themselves temporarily unable to form coherent sentences when speaking to the object of their affections.

This is what adolescents will call "being in love".

In fact, this is hopelessly wrong, as most teenage concepts of this nature are. In fact, what all those feelings amount to is nothing more than a big, fat puppy crush. I should know. Feeling the need, suddenly, to immortalize my thoughts, I pulled a piece of parchment out from under my pillow and wrote on the parchment in large letters, "I HAVE A BIG, FAT PUPPY CRUSH ON SIRIUS BLACK". The ink glistened pink on the parchment. I hadn't known the ink was pink, actually. My sister was probably responsible, thinking she was funny by changing my usual brown out for a very different colour.

The brown ink thing was a funny story, actually. It had started in my second year, when I found myself short on both ink and funds. My parents would not have been very pleased to hear that an entire semester's worth of ink was gone by November due to Sirius's belief that ink was far better wasted on pranks than schoolwork. Nonetheless, I needed ink for the remainder of the semester, and I needed to get it without my parents knowing. So I got together as much money as I could (not much, because before third year, not many people bothered bringing pocket money to school) and sent it to the nearest supply shop, along with a plea to sell me as much ink as possible for the money. They sent back two months' supply of deep brown ink, presumably their least popular colour. At first, I didn't like it much, mainly because if I ever blotted while writing, it looked more like an unfortunate toilet accident than an unfortunate ink accident. At least, that's what Sirius said.

Then I realized that it had some good points – I found that I could find my papers within stacks of classwork more easily; what's more, brown ink is, for some reason, more easily removed with magic than other colours. I could perform the relatively simple erasure charm that most didn't bother with because of its poor results, and it was like the ink was never there. As a result, my essays were neater and I got better grades. Plus, the lower cost of the ink saved me pocket money to spend as I wished.

I looked at the clock. The rest of my family was probably just waking up. I've always been a morning person, consistently waking up an hour or so before those around me. On this particular morning, that was a good thing; today was the day I set off for my fifth year at Hogwarts, and I had already packed, having been up more than an hour. It was to be my sister's first year at Hogwarts, and I didn't know whether to hope for her to be in my house, or somewhere like Hufflepuff (the house farthest away from Gryffindor Tower).

The next few hours, as always happens when one sets off for a big trip, passed by in a bit of a blur. I vaguely recall eating something for breakfast (bacon and sausage, most likely; one of the unfortunate side effects of my condition is a rather hefty appetite for meat), loading my trunk in the car (a handy Muggle machine which surprisingly few wizards own), and eventually arriving at the train station. My sister, the decidedly more social one of us, quickly found a group of first- and second-year girls, who all stood in a knot on the platform and chattered together.

Even though the train didn't leave for almost an hour, I decided to go ahead and board. Hardly anyone had gotten on, but all the choice compartments had already been claimed by the few that had. Generally, the middle of the train is considered the best; the back half smells like toilets (because, indeed, the toilets are in the very back of the train; the smell wafts a bit), so the only people that sit in the back compartments are the higher years, who have ridden the train so many times, all they want to do is sleep the trip away. I guess the smell doesn't bother them. The front third, on the other hand, is usually full of younger people that don't know how loud the engine gets once the train gets moving. It is the middle third, neither smelly nor loud, that attracts the most students.

I looked through most of the good compartments with no luck, and was just beginning to faintly smell toilets, when I opened a door and saw…him.

"Hi Sirius," I managed. He had gotten taller, and he hadn't cut his hair all summer, so it looked wonderfully black and shaggy and sexy. Even though he was only fifteen, he was managing a little bit of scruff around the chin, and I could tell he would look terrible with a beard. But the stubble was incredibly hot. Sure enough, my chest felt tight, and my legs felt wobbly, like the train had departed from the station an hour early. He waved, distracted, with one hand, while attempting to shove his trunk into the overhead bin with the other.

"These damn things get smaller every year," he said, finally managing to squeeze the trunk in.

"No," I said. "You just keep buying the same size trunk every year."

"Stuff it," he replied good naturedly. "Want help with your trunk? With those scrawny arms, you might break yourself if you do it alone." I let the remark slide, and the two of us hefted the trunk up toward the bin. "Wait, hang on – let me shift my grip," he said, resting the corner of the trunk on the edge of the bin. "Wait- no- ah, bugger." The trunk slipped from his hand, bounced off the seat, and burst open as it hit the floor, sending robes, quills, and parchment scraps everywhere. We both hurriedly bent to pick everything up; I was kneeling under the sear to retrieve my tiny songbird quill (great for doodling!), when I heard Sirius's voice behind me.

"Say, have you finally given up on that brown ink? I didn't know you fancied pink." I froze. I must have forgotten to get rid of my sister's pink ink. "Look, you've even written in it." I backed out from under the seat and stood quickly, just in time to see Sirius holding perhaps the last parchment in the world I'd ever want him to read. Mentally, I kicked myself for not throwing it away this morning.

All I could do was stand there helplessly and watch as he read it. His face, however, revealed nothing, which didn't make me feel any better. I sat heavily on the seat and looked studiously out the window. I felt stupid – how could I have left something like that in my trunk, of all places? If it hadn't fallen out now, Sirius could have just as easily found it some other time – we borrow things from one another all the time. Why had I even brought it along? I had written it on a whim this morning, and now I wished I hadn't.

A moment passed, and then I felt the cushion next to me sink as Sirius set down next to me. He said nothing, so I turned halfway to almost look at him. I was startled to see that he didn't look upset or bothered in the slightest, just thoughtful.

Then I noticed that he was sitting close to me. Closer, perhaps, than usual. I even fancied that I could feel the heat from his body, although I suspect my imagination was running away with me (it wasn't the only thing running, either).

"Did you write this?" he asked, a stupid question because we've been writing notes to each other in classes for years. I didn't think I could actually form coherent words, so I simply nodded. "Did you mean it?" he asked. I nodded again. "I see."

I can't even begin to explain how those two tiny words made me feel. I wanted to cry. Then I wanted to leap on top of him and kiss him. Then, inexplicably, I wanted to hit him. I was saved from making any move, however, when he suddenly drew in a sharp breath. I had just enough time to look him in the eyes before he leaned over and kissed me softly. It happened so fast, I didn't know what to do. I could hardly believe it. Sirius Black was kissing me – the same Sirius Black that had had more girlfriends than any of the rest of us. Sirius Black, the stud of Gryffindor.

The kiss ended abruptly, as Sirius pulled away. "What's wrong?" he asked. "I thought – the parchment…"

"Wha-oh, uh, yeah, I –," I managed.

"Then why the hell were you just sitting there like a lump, you big git?" he asked, punching me lightly on the shoulder. I stared at him. There was a pause, and suddenly the two of us began laughing madly. We laughed for a while, and then…

"Why don't we try that again?" said Sirius stopping his laughter abruptly and looking into my eyes. This time, I did a lot better; it was long, slow, luxurious, and every bit as sexy as I had imagined it in my many midnight daydreams. Far better than any of the sloppy awkward kisses I had shared with girls. It was over far too soon. Sirius leaned back in the chair. "Puppy crush, eh?" he said, looking at the parchment, which was still somehow in his hand. I reddened, embarrassed. "I like that," he said. "Big, fat puppy crush…" He grinned, and I couldn't help but smile, too.

I have a feeling this will be a very good year.

FIN


End file.
